


"Is that French?"

by madsaialik



Series: By the Grace of My Training [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anyways, Ballet, F/M, alcohol mention, bar setting, black swan au get FUCKED, odile if i didn't have to make rey a virgin, so you walk into a bar and immediately decide to fuck the bartender?, u know that feeling after a long day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsaialik/pseuds/madsaialik
Summary: "Whiskey? Tequila? Vodka?"She shrugged, busy with pull her hair out of its bun and shaking it out, her scalp tingling under her blunt fingernails. A glass is set in front of her and gone a second later, hardly recognizing the taste before the burn settles heavily on her tongue. Rey snaps the glass against the bar in front of his appraising look under raised brows."I'm just," Rey steeled herself, looking him square in those bourbon colored eyes, "tense."He leaned onto his tattooed forearms in front of her, "I could help with that."
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: By the Grace of My Training [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593310
Comments: 15
Kudos: 116





	"Is that French?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Punkskully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punkskully/gifts), [peachykeenjellybean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachykeenjellybean/gifts).



> hello, here is a small piece for your wait of the odile sequel-- my ballet studio I work for is transferring ownership and it just bums me out to work on anything ballet related but fingers cross for _captivation of sugarplum_ come to ao3 soon!
> 
> for jessa bc she makes one mention of an au and i immediately open my wip folder for her, and for lynnette who help me (enabled) the original idea to even make it to a one-shot

Her legs ached from her ankle to her hip flexors. The bag strung over her shoulder too heavy and curving her spine on her way home. Stuck in corps de ballet and striving for soloist, Rey had been pushing herself too far in rehearsals. A delicate balance of outshining her colleagues while remaining perfectly in sync with the other dancers. 

New York City didn't pause for the tired ballerina, pedestrians streaming around her as she stopped to catch her breath after walking a mile on tired, overarched feet. Across the street and the blare of a taxi cab, a flash of red caught her eye. The bar was small between two buildings, the ornate wood shelving old and inviting, lit with bottles. Without much thought, Rey crossed the street and pulled the door open. Her pink tights and thin wrap top covered her sports bra. Between summer and exertion, she felt damp. Sweat curled her hair and heat pulled a flush to her cheeks. 

"Holy hell." She heard in a deep baritone as the door clattered shut behind her. The voice belonged to the bartender frozen with glass and drying rag in his large hands. Humidity clung to space though cooler, her cheeks still reddened when he says, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, a prima ballerina walks into mine."

"I'm not even a soloist yet," she corrects primly, pressing her thighs together as she sits on the stool in front of him. "Do you quote Casablanca incorrectly to every girl?"

"Not many chances yet, but the night is young." He studies her for a moment. His gaze too intense, forcing her shoulders back. "You look like need something stiff." 

"I--" yes, desperately. Rey doesn't even question why her mind immediately jumps on the double meaning of his words. Dancers don't have the schedule for dating, instead of clustered with lithe bodies and thick pheromones, trysts are common. Rey would rather have Dameron drop her mid-lift then fuck her. She crosses and uncrosses her ankles, fidgeting and scrambling for any response. Her bartender is holy mother-loving fuck-- dark hair artfully framed his high cheekbones and sloping jaw, dusted in freckles and beauty marks. His mouth sinful on its own, dark and wide against his pale skin, curled slightly at the corners. Tall, too broad, her own one inch she had over the average dancer felt small before him. His shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, an assortment of black tattoos on display. Something like a rose unfurled on the side of his neck, covered in the way his hair shifted under his hand as he towered over her. 

"Whiskey? Tequila? Vodka?" 

She shrugged, busy with pull her hair out of its bun and shaking it out, her scalp tingling under her blunt fingernails. A glass is set in front of her and gone a second later, hardly recognizing the taste before the burn settles heavily on her tongue. 

The glass snaps against the bar in front of his appraising look under raised brows. 

"I'm just," Rey steeled herself, looking him square in those bourbon colored eyes, "tense."

He leaned onto his tattooed forearms in front of her, "I could help with that."

She licked her bottom lip between her lip, not really needing to consider his offer, already nodding her head. "What about your patrons?" 

"Fuck them," He murmured, vulgar and soft on his tongue, before moving with a tilt of his head to the other side of the room.

Lightly, on her toes, a dance of a different kind, she follows his lead. 

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks quietly where he meets her at the end of the bar, with nothing to separate them except a small audience and public decency. Both things are forgotten with how his gaze licks up her frame and her heart hammering in anticipation. 

"I'm Rey." She says through part lips on a sigh, all wide eyes and flushed skin. Her white wrap feeling too hot and tight.

"Are you clean, Rey?" 

His hand is tugging at hers before she finishes nodding, pulling her toward some alcove and hidden doorway. The office was dim, bathed in red light, and washing over the black fabric covering his broad shoulders.

"Me too. I don't have any condoms, are you on birth control?" 

"Yes," she whimpers as he backs her into the door he closed behind them. His large hand covers her cheek, her tongue darts out to lick at the pad of his thumb as he traces the swell of her bottom lip. 

He hums as his hand moves traces the slope of her neck, resting over her sternum and ragged breathing. "I've got you, be a good girl and relax for me." 

It was hard when his fingers deftly untied her wrap, pushing it off of her shoulders. He peels her sports bra, pulling it over her head. 

Exposed and not shy, she runs her hands over the tattooed lines of his forearms as his hands settle on her waist, "I want your name." 

"Ben," He tells her right before his lips slant over hers. A tension is untethered and coils tightly under her navel at the brush of his mouth, at the gentle velvet of his tongue against hers. He pushes his knee between her thighs. Her hips rock against his leg and moans into his mouth at the friction she's needed for months. 

Her stomach tensed as rough callouses pass over her breasts, kneading and rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She gasped as she leaned her head back against the door, his mouth closing over the pulse point on her neck. Ben's knee shifts, leaving her whimpering and needy until his fingers rub circles around her clit. 

Rey bucks into his hand, crying out before his other palm covers her mouth. 

"You have to be quiet for me unless you want everyone in the bar to hear you." She keens into his hand, his skin damp with her breath. "You want that? You want them to hear how good I make you feel?" 

He pressed her into the door, the buttons of his shirt dug into her skin. Craning her neck to look up at him and Rey is nearly lost, he covers her completely with his body. Already, she feels secure in his arms. Isn't that all she's ever wanted? A strange sense of belonging heats her core as he cups her sex, a submission loosening her limbs. 

"I'm going to fuck you," He tells her in a low voice, "and you're going to be a good girl and be quiet because that moan in your throat belongs to me and no one else gets to hear it."

"Possessive already," she mumbled as he falls to his knees, placing a stripe of kisses down the taut muscle of her torso. 

"Right now you're mine, just you and me," he says against the band of her leggings before pulling them down, Rey marveled how his fingers wrap around her ankle completely as he helps her step out of her clothing. He guides one of her knees over his shoulders, arm snaking to hold her hip as he kisses along her the line of her other hipbone. 

"This okay?" Ben's lips turn softer as he asks, moving along her ribs as she nods wordlessly. "Are you going to be a good girl for me, sweetheart?"

He doesn't give her time to respond before he presses two fingers into her slowly, curling against her until her hand's fist in his hair. Her mouth shapes around a silent groan at the stretch. Ben grins against her stomach as he works in and out of her, leaning back on his heels and dragging her forward until only her shoulder blades rested against the door. 

"You're being so good for me." He pressed his lips against her trembling thigh, "I bet you're beautiful on stage, your legs are phenomenal. Look at that pretty mouth of yours parted just for me."  
Between his hands and his words, she's so close to an edge she couldn't reach herself, needing his long fingers to press against that spot inside her, and choked on a sob when he withdrawals. 

"Don't stop, please, please, Ben--"

"I want you to feel you come for the first time on my cock." He tells her gently, soothing her need just like that as he undoes his belt and pants. Her back is against the door again, her teeth in his neck to muffle to moan as he sinks into her. 

"You are so fucking tight." 

Ben's pace is slow and gentle, one of a lover instead of a stranger in the back room of a bar. Her ankles are locked and press into his lower back as she clings to him, urging him deeper, harder. 

"I've never been this wet before, for anyone," she confesses with her lips pressed against the rose on his neck. 

"Fuck, prima." He groans and drives his hips into her.

"Say that again-- please, I'm--"

"Come for me, prima." 

_"Je promets que je vais cum partout vous coq si vous continuez à me baiser comme ça,"_ She mutters, hardly able to breath with the pace he set. A deep groan in her neck as his hips snap into hers, the door rattles.

"Is that French?" He asks, his tone a little helpless, "I'm going to come inside you if you keep that up." 

_"Tu aimes ça ? jolie ballerine enroulée autour de votre bite, en disant des choses douces pendant que vous la baisez?"_

"Fuck," He nearly shouts, pulling her away from the door. Still seated deeply, she wiggles her hips as he just holds her, his chest moving rapidly. "Stop, baby, please, you feel too fucking good, I don't want to come yet." 

He takes a step back, lifting her off of him more easily than any professional dancer in her career, a thrill running along her nerves. Ben lays her back on the desk, the surface cool against her back and sweat-soaked skin. 

"I'm never going to get any work done with this image." 

Ben ducks down, shoulders keeping her thighs spread as he licks up her cunt in wide strokes.

"You are the best thing I have ever tasted," the words are wet and half lost in a groan that vibrates through her core, releasing a new wave of heat. That peak that makes her ears ring so, so close. 

"I thought you wanted me to cum on your-- ah--" She cries out as his tongue pressed against her clit, slapping a hand over her mouth to cover the sudden noise.  
"You're so right, I want to feel you." He kisses his way back up her body, licking across her chest, nipping at her until she squirms.

He nudges against her, just the tip making her tighten around him. With his hands on her knees, he spreads her thighs wider as he presses into her. 

"Touch yourself, sweetheart, I want to watch you unravel for me." 

Ben curses violently when she licks at her fingers, reaching between them to rub tighter circles than he performed. Raptured, he watches them move together, his shoulders curling toward her.

_"juste là, s'il te plait."_ Her fingers are harder as his hands tighten on her hips. "just there, just-- fuck, Ben!"

Rey's back aches off the desk, the angle changing and everything in her coils taut before releasing just as quickly, going loose and tight around him as he fucks her though it, hand tight on her throat to keep her cries muffled. Her blood roars and thrums in her ears as she comes, body flushed and molten. Ben's hips match each pulse of aftershock until she regains each of her senses lost.

His elbows brace the desk on either side of her, "I think I want to marry you. Do that again for me."

She swallowed past her own panting, "make me."

* * *

_Tu aimes ça ? jolie ballerine enroulée autour de votre bite, en disant des choses douces pendant que vous la baisez—_

A week since the ballet dancer tiptoed into his life, Ben has not been able to get a damn thing done without a whisper of memory curling in his mind like smoke. Wiping down the bar and he can only think about her long legs firm around his waist. He half listens to a regular debrief him on their day, but the way her hips rolled still burned his palm. 

There was nothing in the world that could keep him from remembering how mind-blowingly tight—

How she bit her lip right before she came, and the debased sense of pride that he felt when her eyes roll back and lashes fluttered shut—

Ben raked his hand through his hair, wondering if he was going to lose his mind completely. Maybe he already had in the lithe lines of conditioned muscle and the taste of her still lingering in his mouth.  
_You like this? cute ballerina wrapped around your cock, saying sweet things as you fuck her—_

"--lost in thought?" came a familiar voice when he was considering sending his tutor a thank you note for making him sit through years of French lessons. If only he paid more attention so he could say something back. 

Ben looked up to whoever had the gall to pull him from his reverie. He had only just opened, happy hour and the regular crowd still two hours away. 

Rey was sitting on the stool in front of him, seemingly materializing from nowhere. Beautiful in the soft, ambient lighting. Her hair intentionally loose rather than let down from a customary bun. The straps of her deep green dress thin and allowing the freckles of her shoulders to be exposed. 

Ben opened his mouth with something crude on his tongue along the lines of, "Back for more?"

He can't find the words for anything with how she sat in front of him with a pretty blush. The shade of pink he knew that spread to her chest when she came. Ben realized he knew so little of her, hardly anything at all, beside that she was a dancer who left the studio when bars were closing. 

"What brings you in?" he asked with the blatant want to covet anything about her to himself. 

"Oh, right," she mumbled and put her clutch on his bar top. With a click, her slender fingers pulled out a study piece of paper. Maybe, if he was lucky, it had her phone number on it. "You mentioned how nice I must look on stage--"

"Phenomenal. I said I thought you would look phenomenal, not nice," he corrects with a rough voice. 

Rey's smile curled at the edges. 

"Come and see?" 

She offers now what he could see as a ticket in her slender hand. He reached forward, the anticipation of touching her slowed his nerves as if each fire and synapsis depended on her slender fingers on his. 

"I don't have a private dressing room, yet, otherwise I'd invite you backstage," she told him. "But maybe you could pick me up afterward?"

* * *

Stage makeup clings to her skin as she scrubbed her face for the second time. The audience's roar rung in her ears, overpowering the sound of running water and after-show chatter as everyone's cooled down. Each nerve and tendon exhausted and _zoetic_ , a slight hum that runs over her skin in tandem of applause and heartbeat. Rey Cissa felt more alive in her dressing room surrounded by her colleagues after shows than she did in pointe shoes. An unnamable dynamism of knowing what perfection was than striving for it. Finn hugged her and kissed her temple before she slipped out. The ballet company felt more like family than anything she had ever experienced. 

It was a sweet sensation but something warmer, deeper curled in her chest when she knew Ben was waiting for her at the stage door. He reached her in two steps, diminishing the space between them and in her lungs. Brandy colored eyes are darkened by the dim street light, pupils too wide as they sweep over her. 

"Prima," he says with deep sanctification, worship instead of praise. Rey feels caught by how his lips shaped the word and lingered in a small smile crafted just for her. She felt more beautiful with his hands tracing her bare face than in red costume and matching lipstick.

"Hi," she replies breathlessly.

Ben bends down, slanting his mouth over hers in a smoother movement than anything orchestrated on stage. Her hands curl around the wool sleeves of his suit as he pulls her against him fully, groaning into her mouth as she nipped him.

The stage door opens and releases a group of Corps dancers onto their moment, making them pull back. Interrupted or not, a question and answer tugs below her navel.

"let's go--," he starts. 

She reached around him, yanking the back door open. "Get in the car, Ben."

Stunned momentarily, he has to collect himself in a series of glazed blinks. He glances at her once, his eye's wholly black, before ducking under the frame of the door and folding himself into the backseat. Leisurely she watches her colleagues. Ben's gaze sears a line of her neck down to her sweat-damp top.

When the street is clear, she gives Ben a look with no indication of what she would do next. 

Rey has never been shy, but pulling her shirt off in a quick movement, baring pebbled skin, and taut muscle still earns her a slack look of astonishment. She turns her back to him, sitting on the edge of the backseat with the door open, gathering the hem of her leggings, and pulls them off. The door only just clicks shut when he pulls her onto his lap. The wool soft yet course against her the inside of her thighs as she straddles one of his. Her hair is loose and stiff with hairspray, spilling over his shoulder as she leaned back. She rocks her hips against his leg tentatively, once, twice. She moans into his neck, inhaling aftershave, cologne, and _Ben._

A tension built and refused to heighten any further no matter how hard she grinds against him. His hand covered her breasts, gently rolling the dusty peaks between his fingers. 

"Prima," Ben groans softly as her ass rolls into his hard cock as she chases her pleasure. "I'm going to take you to dinner, anywhere you want."

She kisses him quickly, "I'd love to."

Rey twists to work him free of his belt, a quiet whimper of need in her throat as she scrambled back into his lap. Her adamant want to have him inside her only paused with his mouth on her breast, lips and tongue and teeth making her back arch. 

"Ben, I need-- you."

He shifts under her, spreading his thighs wider, hands roving over her waist to grip her hips tightly against him. Their breath ragged and fragmented, fanning over each other's skin the shared space between them. Rey reaches down to better align his cock against her pussy. She cries out against his throat as she sunk down, hands fisting in his hair to steady herself.

_"Show me how you move, prima."_

**Author's Note:**

> listen i just think bendy, ballerina rey is NEAT 
> 
> twitter: [@madsaialik, if u want to follow me crying onto the third draft of my sapphic reylo novel](https://twitter.com/madsaialik)


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